Control
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Leia, and Han. A 'fresher, a snag, and a heart-to-heart. Set in the Identity 'verse Trip to Bespin. Yes, having read 'Identity' is probably useful. NSFW (smut involved). TW: Overt references to rape.


_a/n: Identity Bespin. fairly explicit all around. Based (sort of) on a scene in Identity - basically the origin of Han knowing when and why Leia doesn't want him to touch her._

 _i know i left one in the summary, but just one more time to cover my ass, and yours: **trigger warning applies:**_ _blunt references to sexual assault/past rape._

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 _ **Control**_

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The prospect of a sluggish limp across the untamed stars to Bespin – Bespin, a planet she had no political or cultural knowledge of – had been so daunting, so emotionally and physically intimidating – both because of their lack of ample supplies, and their lack of places to hide from the inexorable thing between them –

Despite the close quarters, and the brutal absence of privacy, Leia had somehow felt less pursued by his attentions to her, and less trapped by her maelstrom of feelings for Han – and the things she was afraid of, when it came to Han – and whether it was intentional or not, his effort to make sure she had space to breathe, despite their pinched living quarters – and his startling ability to give her a safe place to simply exist, to be, after she laid the worst of her trauma bare for him –

It was all like nothing she'd imagined, like nothing she'd ever experienced before – in many different aspects – the emotional connection with Han she finally surrendered to was comforting and exhilarating, a strength of feeling she stood in awe of, because it made her feel so confident, and so frail, all at once – and the physical, the physical element of their relationship – new, and passionate – it was less important than the attachment she felt to his mind, and his soul, but it did her the favor of thrusting some desperately needed control back into her own two hands.

Her two hands that rested atop Han's head as he knelt between her legs, both of them soaked in the spray of the 'fresher's hot water, Leia's fingers twisting and pulling, gentle and then firm, slack and then tight and hard, in his wet hair as she pressed her back into the cool metal wall behind her, hips arching against his mouth.

It was an egregious waste of water, but so very needed, and Han argued that she'd more than appreciate what it was like in the shower – and she did; she'd taken him at his word, but his actions were even more convincing – she wondered if the floor was hard on his knees as he rested on them, his hands wrapped around her thighs, palms moving gently in a practiced rhythm as he drew his tongue over her between her legs – he held her steady, used the press of his body to help her stand up even when her knees threatened to buckle.

Leia alternately threw her head back and bent forward, always clutching at his hair, his temples, the back of his neck – it was so good, _so good_ she wanted to scream, not languid and gentle, like it had been the first few times, but skilled and focused, and if she wasn't panting for breath, trying to catch hers in the shower steam and bursts of water, she was gasping his name, incoherent moans, high-pitched cries – _Han, Han, Han - !_

The hot water was overwhelming, almost over-stimulating, it peppered her shoulders, her breasts, her abdomen, running over her in rivulets that made her shiver, yet kept her warm – her head spun, her muscles seizing and clenching towards a breaking point – what he was doing to her was almost excruciating, it was so incredible, and for a moment, unable to think straight, or see straight, she thought she might faint, or burst into tears.

She flung one of her hands back and flattened it tensely against the 'fresher wall, tilting her head back, her hair plastering to her shoulders and her spine – eyes closed, she stumbled, very nearly losing her footing completely, biting out a husky, satisfied cry.

Han caught her hips in his hands firmly, gently, and she felt his lips on her abdomen, her ribs, her breasts – as he stood up, pressing closer to her to help her keep her balance, his hands slipping between her legs as the climax still coursed through her, peaking sharply, and peaking again when he slipped two fingers inside her, tilting his head down to kiss her lips, her jaw, his eyes on her face until she opened her eyes a little and he smirked at her.

Leia wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands shaking, collapsed against him, and he laughed smugly, slipping a hand behind her and resting it on her lower back. He slid his fingers back slowly and she moaned, resting her cheek against his shoulder, holding onto him tighter.

Han mumbled something to her and she barely heard him, still hazy, her nerves alive and sensitive – she was constantly astounded at herself, at how much she wanted him to just touch her, every stroke of his hand was like a protective strike against the things that had hurt her.

She blinked rapidly in the rushing water, and leaned back to take a deep breath, sputtering a little as a deluge of water interfered – Han laughed, and she choked out a weak laugh as well; He moved his hand up to her hair and pushed matted, wet strands away from her face, kissing her urgently. His lips were slick against hers, wet with water and her arousal.

Leia sighed at the hard press of his body against hers, clutching his shoulders – he reached for her hips, the backs of her thighs, his hands curving around her backside – Leia nodded silently, encouragingly, imagining how good he'd feel inside her, right now, after _that_ –

She seized his arms as he started to lift her, and then he shook his head, and her toes touched the floor again, Han mumbling something in the hum of the 'fresher water – she looked at him questioningly, her lashes heavy –

He gave her a lopsided smile, arm slung around her hips –

He didn't want to drop her – she hardly weighed a thing, but there was soap on the floor somewhere, and he was so hard he couldn't think straight, so for now – he nudged her chin with his lips and kissed her neck for a moment, and then he took a small step back and whirled her around, running his hands over her back.

His chest pressed into the back of her shoulders, and he kissed the nape of her neck, kissed inches down her spine, crouched down to kiss the backs of her thighs again, and stood back up, running his fingers along her arms until he laced his fingers in with hers.

Leia shifted forward when he moved against her this time – and the coolness of the 'fresher wall was an unwelcome shock to her skin, startling – it had been warm against her back, but she'd had time to acclimate –

She drew her head back, taken out of the moment for a minute, and she stared in front of her at the grey metal tiling, her thoughts reeling – she yanked one of her hands in and tucked it against her breast protectively, losing her breath for a moment.

 _Cold_ , she thought, blinking rapidly – the water in her eyes didn't seem so pleasant anymore; it was blinding, and the steam was choking her – she couldn't _see_ Han, all she could see was the grey wall – _grey_ , she gasped inside herself.

Han's lips pressed against her neck, and he ran a hand through her hair, down her spine, pushing one of her legs aside a little for himself; she felt him, hard against her hip, then between her legs – and she closed her eyes, her shoulders tensing painfully. She pushed back against him, but he misinterpreted it as desire, and didn't budge.

He groaned her name softly – she thought he did, but the water was so loud, suddenly, and when he started to ease inside her, she dug her nails into her chest, and grit her teeth.

"Han," she managed to get out, finding it difficult to work her voice.

Han had already paused, tilting his head to try and catch her eye in concern – Leia had just gone rigid –

" _Han_ ," she said, more clearly – she sounded calm, and serious. "Han, _stop_."

It took him a split second to process what she'd said over the noise in the 'fresher –

"Han, I _need_ you to stop," she repeated, her voice cracking – and he stepped away quickly, as if he'd been burned – reaching out roughly, and instinctively, to turn the water off, leaving the room eerily quiet, save for the hum of the ship's engines.

Leia bowed her head, tucking her arms around herself tightly - she blinked rapidly, trying to fathom what had just happened – she'd been fine, she'd felt – good, she was with Han, and out of the blue, she'd – flashed back.

For a second, she was frozen to the spot and terrified, back on the Death Star, and that – hadn't happened before, not the first time, not – she'd been relieved, in the back of her mind, that it hadn't seemed to have ruined intimacy for her –

"Leia," Han said – his voice was hushed, but it for some reason sounded like screaming to her, and she flinched. "Leia," he said softer.

She turned and brushed past him, stepping out of the 'fresher with unsteady footsteps. He moved closer to take her arm, and she shook her head.

"Don't," she said, much calmer than she felt. She looked uncertain. "Ah, don't – touch me, for a minute," she requested, wincing at the words.

Han nodded. He pointed past her at the towels.

"Wrap yourself up," he suggested gruffly. "You're shaking."

Leia swallowed hard, and grabbed one, pulling it around her tightly. Han cleared his throat, and lingered in the 'fresher cube for another moment, emerging a little flushed, and grabbing a towel for himself. He tied it around his waist, and then turned to crouch in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet.

He tried to catch her eye, his expression worried, and careful.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked hoarsely.

Leia looked at him through her lashes, and shook her head a little. Han blanched at the look on her face, his jaw tightening.

"Sit tight," he said, standing up.

Leia wrapped her arms around herself, her wet skin cooling off and making her shiver, and Han left the 'fresher room, coming back moments later with one of his old shirts, and an empty cup.

He set the cup aside, and handed her the shirt, turning to fill the cup with water as she traded the towel for the clothing, and then shifted to sit on the closed seat of the sani, the towel beneath her, tucking it between her legs for personal comfort.

He handed her the water, and then gingerly sat down across from her, his back against the wall, his legs folded in front of him – his towel hitched up on his thighs, loosened, and pooled in his lap, hardly covering him, and he looked at her patiently.

Leia stared down at the flat water in her cup, and took a sip, absorbing herself for the moment in the drink – it helped the tightness in her throat, the watery, coppery taste in her mouth. She took another sip, and tried to cope with the confusion that burned inside her – in such a monster of a second, a good moment was ruined for her – and she couldn't understand if it was the cold shock she'd gotten, if it was because he'd pressed her against the wall –

Leia reached up with one hand to prod at her eyes, and her lips trembled; she fought to hold back tears, and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she started. "I didn't mean," she broke off, brushing her mouth with her fingers.

"Don't say sorry," Han said dismissively, brushing past that. "What happened?" he asked. "Did I hurt you?" he repeated.

Leia shook her head again.

" _No_ ," she breathed honestly. She ran a hand back through her wet, knotted hair. "That was – the best – I've had," she admitted, stumbling, "it just – I don't know, I panicked," she said in a small voice. "I didn't like – I didn't expect you to – push me against the wall like that."

Han grimaced, a devastated look glinting through his eyes. He crossed his arm over his chest, rubbing his own shoulder roughly, nodding.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said grimly, and he felt hollow, he felt, for a split second, like taking his blaster to his own temple, because now it seemed obvious that he never should have grabbed her arm and spun her away from him – it had never seemed like a violent action to him before, but now, sitting in front of her, he saw why it might –

"Leia," he pleaded softly. "I didn't think twice – _I'm_ sorry," he started. "That's – I – fucked that up; I should've told you, or asked you or somethin'," he said unsteadily – he probably should have just picked her up – "I haven't – "

"Slept with a girl who's been raped?" she interrupted bluntly, her voice quiet, and resigned.

She swallowed hard.

"It takes the fun out of it?"

Her voice pitched up at the end, like it was a question – but she also said it like a dull statement, and Han stared at her silently for a long time, his expression unreadable – in his mind, caught somewhere between disbelief that she'd ever think he thought her a hassle for it, and anger at everything that had hurt her.

He ran his hand over his shoulder again, shaking his head slowly.

"No," he said, very clear, very simple. "That's not it, Leia. Don't think that."

She smiled a little, and lowered her gaze, taking another sip of her water. She bit the inside of her lips, keeping her face as composed as she could, blinking slowly to keep tears back.

"Sweetheart," he started, and then stopped, lost. "You've – I need you to – _kriff_ ," he broke off, swearing under his breath. He struggled silently for a moment. "You've got to tell me what's no good."

He looked strained, and Leia licked her lips, her face flushing.

"I don't know," she hissed, eyes wide. "This is a rare – thing in life I'm out of my element with, Han," she reminded him, her face flushed. "You're the only man I've – and I didn't know that was going to happen."

He saw her grapple with uncertainty – and Leia clamped her lips together – how was she supposed to direct him, when she was relying on him to have the confidence her inexperience was still searching for?

Han nodded, and pushed his hair back.

"Yeah," he sighed gruffly. He was at a loss, too – this was out of his element, and he felt angry at himself for falling short now, when he'd handled himself so well over the past few weeks – making her feel safe – he'd forgotten to remember that she still had these harsh triggers because they hadn't run into a problem thus far.

He'd gotten caught up in how relentlessly good she made him feel, caught up in making her feel good – just the other day, she'd damn near devastated him with her mouth, he'd spent the past week under her, on top of her – all in bed, and it was gentle, contained passion that had only now been tested against her limits.

Han took a deep breath. He rubbed his jaw.

"I can make you feel good, Sweetheart," he said huskily. "I _can't…my_ experience isn't gonna tell me what's good for _you,"_ he tried to explain, haltingly. "I'm gonna have to take your cues, on this stuff, on what's…gonna be a bad memory."

He lifted his shoulders.

"You're in control," he said.

He saw a flicker of something in her eyes, like that helped – she straightened, flinging her arm out at the shower.

"I don't want to talk details," she choked out harshly, "but that's now how he did it," her vice was laced with alarm – o _bviously, obviously it wasn't in a 'fresher_ – "It came out of nowhere – I don't know why I reacted like that, and if I can't expect – then how can I tell you – "

"Do what you did in there," Han said frankly. "Tell me to stop." He swallowed hard, and held up his palm towards her. "You're in control."

Leia gasped and turned her head up, reaching to her face to swipe tears from under her eyes.

"I _don't_ want to be like this," she snapped furiously, her jaw tense.

Han leaned forward, pulling his shoulders forward, catching her eye.

"I think it's just a matter of time, Leia," he ventured quietly. He hesitated. "What got you so shook up?" he asked. "'M thinkin' if you – can figure out what it was, then I can remember it."

Leia looked down at the water in her cup, and then set it aside, turning her head and staring into the watery 'fresher stall.

"I couldn't see your face," she said, her voice shaking violently. Her expression paled, and her brow knit together painfully, lashes ultimately unable to hold back tears. "I couldn't – I felt like I couldn't move, if I wanted to," she paused – Han was heavy, on top of her, but she'd never felt like that before – because he _looked_ at her, even when he closed his eyes and tucked his head into her shoulder, she knew it was _him_.

This had just been –

"With my back to you, it was just a metal wall, and a lot of noise, and all I thought, for a second was," she paused, and then looked back at him apologetically, " _this is the part that hurts."_

Han looked winded. He swallowed hard, and nodded his head.

"Okay," he said quietly after a moment. "Okay," he said again, trying not to be too hard on himself – he knew Leia would feel even more isolated if he started moping, or acting a martyr, but the sense of sorrow he felt for putting her through a bad memory even for a second – crushed him.

He mustered a smile for her.

"Hey, so you need to look at me," he said, forcing himself to sound charming. "'M not surprised, Princess, I'm a sight to see," he flirted gently. He summoned a more roguish smirk.

Leia gave him a small, cautious smile. Her expression was watery – her face wet with tears.

"Tarkin wanted this," she said in a soft, raw whisper. "He wanted me ruined."

 _Tainted everything_ – she thought bitterly; so that even when he was long dead, and she'd escaped and beaten him and all of his ilk, the torture would linger – even when she thought she'd escaped it; even when she had just begun to let her guard down, and let herself have Han.

Han gave her a protective look. He tilted his head.

" _Fuck_ Tarkin," he said coldly.

He stood up slowly, and resituated the towel around his waist, coming to stand against the sink. He leaned there, folding his arms and looking down at Leia intently, his body angled towards her like a shield – against anyone who might threaten her.

"You're not ruined," Han said, spitting the word distastefully.

Leia tilted her head up at him, and smiled faintly. He shrugged emphatically, and then laughed dryly.

"Leia, we _just_ started sleepin' together," he soothed. "It went a little bad one time. That's not totally unheard of," he remarked, arching a brow, "for anyone."

Leia had different hang-ups, that much was certain, but Han had encountered his fair share of bedroom miscommunications that had ended in arguments or injured feelings – and once, a very pointed knee to his groin – but there was no reason for Leia to feel like she was somehow abnormal.

There was time – and _then_ some – to figure out their rhythm, and Han – despite the ache he still felt in his chest, in the depth of his bones, over hurting her this evening – wasn't angry at her, and didn't feel less interested in her – if anything, he felt damn near incapacitated by how much he cared for her.

Leia stood up slowly. She left the towel on the sani, Han's shirt tumbling to the tops of her thighs, and she loosely folded her arms across her chest, giving a slow, cautious nod.

She felt such a – debilitating mixture of anger, and betrayal, and shame, and sadness – and yet she was able to take Han's words to heart, because even if she felt uneven and shaky right now, and even if suddenly, she was wary of intimacy again, when she'd had so many days of bliss at his hands – he had done the two things that she realized she needed him to do –

Stop when she asked him to, and listen without judgment.

It gave her that feeling, again, of safety – security; a feeling that even if she had setbacks and she stumbled, and she was embarrassed, or scared, or just – struggling to deal with something, she had made a good investment when she let Han in – when she let herself get over her guarded heart – and took a leap of faith, to face her feelings for him instead of battling them.

Han tilted his head at her thoughtfully. She raised her eyes to him and smiled tentatively.

"I'll be okay, in a few more minutes," she said, letting out a slow breath, "and we can – go again; we can finish."

"You already finished," Han quipped, arching a brow at her, and Leia blushed slightly, a jolt running up her spine as she thought back to the start of the shower – his head between her legs, the mind-blowing –

"You didn't," Leia said quietly, her lips compressing unhappily.

Han shrugged. He shook his head.

"Let's just go to bed," he suggested. "C'mon, Sweetheart, you can call it a night."

Leia looked at him, unreadable for a moment.

"That's not fair," she remarked quietly.

Han felt a twist in his chest, and he swallowed hard, his jaw tight – it _was_ fair; it was more than fair not to expect her to rally when she seemed – drained. He merely gave her a look, trying to figure some grand way to express what he was thinking about the whole thing –

"If you're not in the mood for sex, you don't have to have sex with me," he said bluntly. "I won't get mad."

Leia blinked at him as if she was startled – and for a moment he was a little offended she may have been thinking he'd have rigid expectations of her – but he realized, after she parted her lips and looked a bit more relaxed, that she had more likely than not been startled because he'd managed to say exactly the right thing – and she hadn't even known it was perfect until he said it.

She let out a breath, and reached up to twist her hair over one shoulder – that was it; she was shaken, and tired, emotionally wrenched and physically nervous, and she'd wanted to force herself to get it together and get back in the game, because he shouldn't have to suffer with her – but that just wasn't in the cards tonight, and knowing he didn't care if she just wanted to lay next to him and go to sleep made her ache with relief.

She nodded.

"I don't want to have sex tonight," she said. She bit her lip for a moment, and turned her head up again. "I still...want to try things with you. Everything," she whispered hesitently - maybe he was right; total comfort would come with time.

Han nodded. He uncrossed his arms and pressed them behind him, gripping the sink.

"You mind if I touch you now?" he asked.

Leia shook her head.

"You can – I just needed to get my bearings," she said. "Anchor myself to – _you_."

Han held out one arm, a silent summons – _C'mere, Sweetheart._ She moved forward into his side, pressing herself against him in the spot near his chest and shoulder that had become hers, her head resting against his skin heavily. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek lightly on the crown of her head.

He wanted to tell her he loved her – he did – but there'd been so much stimulation, positive and negative, that instinct told him it wasn't the right time; it would sound like compensation, or flattery – not insincere, necessarily, but like something forced out in light of the circumstances, to make her feel better, rather than something difficult for him to vocalize, but easy for him to feel, for her.

Leia cuddled against him closely, breathing evenly – she thought she might rest here forever, until she fell asleep and he carried her to bed – but for the moment she was awake, comfortable, the triggered memory steadily fading in the back of her mind – so many times on this protracted crawl to Bespin, Han had made her feel invincible – yet she felt that, more importantly, Han handed her control of her fate and her feelings even when she felt powerless to wield it.

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 ** _Control_**

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 _another Identity 'verse Bespin story, under the belt - set after 'Invincible.' also - i'll try to do a less heavy Identity story in a few days. key word is 'try.'_

 _-alexandra  
story #351_


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